


The Angel of Life and Death

by Nayva



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Adventure, Ernesto is still evil (or is he?), F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Imelda and Hector Romance, Imelda and Hector are overprotective, Miguel and Hector fluff, Miguel gets powers, Mystery, OC villian - Freeform, Pre-movie plot, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-12 21:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nayva/pseuds/Nayva
Summary: Miguel discovers that his trip to the Land of the Dead has left its mark on him when he's faced with strange new powers, and although it's only been two years since his first adventure, he's forced to return in hopes of uncovering the truth of his abilities. With the help of his family and newfound allies, he goes through the journey on Dia de los Muertos once more, facing new challenges and even fiercer villains.(Or in which Ernesto deals with a possible change in his moral compass, Imelda deals with the consequences of her life decisions, Hector deals with his own trust issues, and Miguel deals with the responsibility of giving them all a second chance. All while they try to stay safe from a villain whose taken a sudden interest in Miguel's newfound powers.)





	1. Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> ¡Hola amigos! I have watched Coco sooooo many times now and I still love it soooo much! I just couldn’t stop myself from writing a fanfic. Anyway, this story will be giving Miguel powers. He won’t become a superhero or anything but they’ll be powers important to the plot in this story and stories I’ll write further down the line (maybe a BH6 and Coco Crossover?). This is my first fanfic ever so feel free to give me any feedback to help improve my writing and/or the story (just please be nice about it). Also, this story is also published on Fanfiction.net just in case anyone like's that place better. Well, enjoy the first chapter!

Who on earth was to say he was going crazy? Everyone apparently. Or maybe they all just thought he was sick. Especially when they say stuff like: 

“Ay! Miguel! Look how pale you look.”

“ _ Mi pobre Miguelito! _ Have you been eating enough?’

“Are you getting sick,  _ mi amor _ ?”

Yeah, they probably just thought he was sick. 

But it's way cooler to think of them as the crazy family trying to take care of their crazy child. Because tough guys don’t get sick! Well, now that he thinks about it, they don’t really go crazy either. Unless they’re Ernesto de la Cruz that is. 

He’s had a lot of time to throw out the makeshift shrine he’d made for Ernesto in the tiny, dusty attic above his home, what with him having to stay home because of his sickness. Miguel had even burned some of the albums and discs he owned. Like, the one he got when he was 8, which he’d watched countless amount of times. And the one he barely found when he was 11 that showcased the amazing “flying” prowess of Ernesto de la Cruz.

Last night, when he stood around the warm fire of the posters and discs burning, Miguel had felt happy. He may have admired de la Cruz with all his heart at one point, but if there’s one thing he learned on his adventure last year, it’s to not trust famous people! Because they’ll just turn out to be murders! 

That and that family is most important. Miguel didn’t get his blessing from his (used to be) idol but he did end up getting it from people that were way more important: Hector and Imelda. His family. Oh, how he missed them. He thought of them constantly. Miguel wishes he can see them but knows he won’t be able to until the day he dies. Pretty unfair if you ask him. His time with Hector had been so much fun. He couldn’t stop thinking of the feelings of joy that had constantly filled his heart when he was with his dead family. He didn’t even want to try to stop his brain from being filled with those wondrous memories. 

Not even now, when he’s in his room just looking out the window which was to the side of his bed. Miguel sat criss-cross on his bed with his elbows resting on the window sill and his chin placed in his hand. He stared off into the sunrise and breathed in the morning dew which formed due to the cold of November. A familiar vendor below looked up at him, shading his eyes with one hand and the other holding the masks he sells.

“ _ Buenos dias, Miguel _ . How did you sleep?” the man asked, only slightly having to raise his voice since it was early in the morning and no one wandered the streets yet.

“I slept okay, Señor Calles. And you?” Miguel answered, remembering his manners to ask in return.

The man just stared at him, closely like if he was inspecting his every crevice. “Are you sure you slept okay,  _ niñito _ ?” Señor Calles asked again, ignoring Miguel’s question. “You still look so tired.”

Miguel sighed and removed his head from its place on his hands and placed his chin straight on the window sill, his back slouched and his face pouty.

“ _ Perdón Miguelito _ . But I have to ask. You worry everyone around here.” The man said, attempting to console the boy, but Miguel remained in his spot and didn’t look at the man. Señor Calles tried to change the topic. “No fire to light today?”

“Fire?” Miguel perked up at the mention of it, his face bewildered.

“The fire you were burning yesterday.”

“Oh. I was just burning unwanted things,” Miguel answered, his interest in the conversation beginning to wane.

“What was it?”

“Just stuff…”

“Well okay then. Just make sure not to burn yourself,” the Señor advised Miguel. Miguel nodded. An awkward silence lingered. Miguel broke it. 

“Well...um...it was nice seeing you Señor. I have to go to breakfast now or Mama will get mad. Y’know how moms are”. He grabbed the window panels and smiled at the man nervously, hoping he didn’t see through his lie. 

“Nice seeing you too Miguel.” the man answered sweetly. Miguel began to cover the window when the man spoke up. “And make sure you actually eat something,  _ muchacho _ ”

“ _ Si Señor Calles _ ,” Miguel said still smiling. He firmly closed the window after that. Miguel took a deep breath in...then...out. He smiled brightly then sprang up out of bed. 

He was not gonna let today be like the other days. He knew if he just acted like if he was better, he’d start looking better and his family would let him go out. Miguel put his red sweater over his white undershirt and quickly slipped into his boots, hopping around his room trying to keep his balance. 

He opened the door to his room, ready to run to the kitchen when he came face to face with Ernesto de la Cruz? Miguel yelled. Then laughter began to be heard. Miguel's cousin Rosa drops the Ernesto de la Cruz mask from her face and holds her stomach as she laughs uncontrollably. 

“I can’t believe you got scared so easily!” she said between her chuckles.

“Shut up! You know I don’t like that guy anymore” Miguel shouted, trying to be heard over her laughter. His face had gone red with embarrassment and his hands fisted at his sides.

“Yeah but why are you so scared of him?” she asked, having finally calmed down enough to be cocky once again.  _ Probably because he murdered our great-great-grandfather, threw me in a sinkhole AND over a 40 story building. _

“I don’t know,” Miguel said, pushing past her to get to the kitchen. He could hear her saying something else but didn’t feel like trying to make it out. He walked into the kitchen where his mother and grandmother were peeling potatoes with cheap knives while watching their  _ telenovela _ on the big block TV. They were probably preparing all the food for Dia de los Muertos tomorrow. Mama noticed him walk in but didn’t stop peeling the potatoes.

“ _ Buenos dias, Miguel _ . How did you sleep?” she asked. Miguel wasn’t even going to mention how she asked the exact same thing Señor Calles asked.

“I think I actually slept really well. I’ve got so much energy!” Miguel stated happily, lifting his sleeves and showing off muscle that wasn’t there. He was trying to appear better than yesterday. He wanted, with all his heart, to get out and play music at Mariachi Plaza or run with Dante in the streets. He’d been so bored the last few days. Miguel noticed his grandmother stop peeling and get up from her seat at the table. Her face was serious as she walked over to Miguel and roughly placed her hand on his forehead. 

“You’re lying Miguel,” Abuela says as she puts her hands at her waists.

“What? No, I’m not. I don’t even have a fever”

“No you don’t but you  _ are _ freezing” 

“What?” Miguel was actually confused now. Freezing? He didn’t feel cold. Sure he felt tired but not cold.

“Yesterday he had a fever and today he’s freezing? This isn’t normal, Señora,” Miguel’s mom says to his grandma. She had finally stopped peeling the potatoes and appeared concerned. “We need to take him to the doctor” 

“But I feel fine Mama,” Miguel whined. “Can’t I just go out? I bet I’ll get better if I just listen to some music at Mariachi Plaza.”

“And  _ I _ bet you’ll get better if you just get back into that bed of yours!” Abuelita stated harshly.

“But-”

“No buts! Just go to bed. I’ll bring you breakfast,” Abuelita commanded. Miguel just stood there angrily pouting.

“Fine,” he says and walks back to his room like a kid about to throw a tantrum. He passes Rosa who’s still at his door.

“Awww! How sad. Abuelita didn’t let pobre Miguelito out to play?” she said mockingly sweet to Miguel as he walked by.

“Shut up,” Miguel slams the door behind him as he enters his room but the poor quality of the wood door causes it remain slightly ajar. Miguel flops onto his bed and buries his face in his pillows. He yells a muffled yell into the pillows, the anger of not being allowed out getting to him. He lifts his head from the pillows and stares at the cracked concrete wall of his bedroom. He stands up to look out the window in hopes of speaking to Señor Calles, the only person who has seemed even remotely kind to him today. Miguel opens the wooden panels and looks down to the street for the man. But he’s not there.

His stand is there full of all the  _ luchador _ masks Señor Calles sells but the man was nowhere in sight. Miguel frowns and drops his grip on the open wooden panels. He looks down the street to the right. Then to the left. Nothing. 

Another man walks up to the stand and stands behind the counter. He has his sombrero on and the common flannel shirts all the older male workers wear around Santa Cecilia. He dejectedly begins to organize the masks. Miguel’s face contorts to one of confusion. 

“Um...excuse me,  _ Señor _ ,” Miguel says rather shyly. The man doesn’t hear from below. “ _ Señor _ !,” he shouts a bit louder. The man looks up and lands his eyes on Miguel.

“Oh. Buenos dias. Is there something you need chamaco?” the man answers softly.

“ _ Uh...si _ . Where is Señor Calles?” Miguel asks.

The man’s eyes widen quickly and then darken just as fast.

“Did you not know chamaco?” he sadly asks, his voice trying to be comforting in the midst of its own sadness. 

“Know what?” Miguel asks, his face contorting in confusion. And then the man looks up to the sky as if something beautifully saddening was soaring up there with the clouds. Miguel just stares at him, waiting for an answer. A breeze passes, the dried leaves on the street are blown further down the pebble-paved and dusty road. He brings his eyes to meet Miguel’s again. 

“Señor Calles…h-he...died. Last night.”


	2. Much Needed Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back! This chapter is waaay longer than I expected it to be but whatever. As long as you guys like it. But, I’ll just stop talking (writing?) and let you read.   
> Disclaimer: Forgot to do this last chapter but Coco does not belong to me and neither does the cover art. They are both rightful property of Disney and Pixar. Please support the official release!

Miguel sat on the edge of his bed. His window is closed, lights dimmed and face downcast as if the secrets of the universe had been discovered by him, but he was still trying to piece them together. His eyes are staring at no particular place on his wooden floor, easily inferred that he was spaced out and wandering in his own mind. A knock is heard on the door and then the creak of its wooden panels being pushed open. 

“Miguel I brought you your breakfast mijo,” Abuelita says kindly, staring at the tray as she opens the door by leaning on it with her back as to not drop the food and orange juice in the cheap, plastic cup. She fully steps into the room and stares at Miguel. The soft smile that was on her face falls to a look of pity at the sight of Miguel looking gloomy on his bed. 

“Miguel?” she asks for his attention. He doesn’t answer, just keeps staring at the floor between his feet. Abuelita places the tray of food carefully on the bedside table placed on the left of Miguel’s bed. She goes to stand in front of Miguel and softly places her hand on his right cheek. “ _ ¿Qué pasa mijo? _ What’s wrong?” 

Miguel still doesn’t answer. His eyes remain lost and empty. Abuelita sits to the right of him, her weight dipping the spring bed. She wraps her arm around his shoulders, beginning to rub comforting circles on his back. 

“You need to talk to me _ querido _ ,” she says, letting the wisdom of her years spill into her words. Miguel slowly tilts his head up to meet his abuelitas gaze. He opens his mouth about to say something, he hesitates then lets his head fall again. Abuelita sighs.

“I know you wanted to go out but you won’t get better if you don’t let yourself relax,”  Abuela says. Miguel forgot all about his little temper tantrum which had led to him discovering the startling truth about Señor Calles. Going outside was the last thing on Miguel’s mind right now. His abuelita reaches her hand up and rests the back of her palm on Miguel’s cheek. 

“You’re still cold. You might actually be getting colder. You need to eat your food  _ mijo _ ,” she says rather sadly as if the failure to get a response from Miguel affected her the same way as would the event of losing the most precious thing. She got up out of the bed and it lifts back up, Miguel’s slim form causing it to remain only slightly dipped compared to his grandmother's. She looks over to him as she walks to the door and grabs the handle.

“And... if you’re feeling up to it you can help with the ofrenda.” 

Miguel seems to let some light re-enter his big, brown eyes and a smile forms as he looks up to Abuelita. 

“But only for a while”

Miguel’s smile doesn’t falter. The prospect of helping give new gifts to his dead family brightened him up, at least by a little. As well as the fact that he’d actually be doing something.

“I do want to help,” Miguel says, excitedly.

The only answers he was going to get were the ones he’d find while celebrating the holiday that his culture admired. That  _ he _ admired. But how was being around the memory of death going to help him feel better about the fact that he’s seen Señor Calles? Seeing him wasn’t bad in itself. But the more he thought about it, the more he thought of how the man wasn’t bones. How he wasn’t a skeleton or that he wasn’t glowing the same way all dead spirits do when they stand in the Land of the Living. Almost like if he was still alive but dead at the same time.

“ _ iQue bien! _ ” his abuelita interrupts his thoughts, clapping her hands together as she smiles widely, She opens the door and walks out. Miguel just sits there.

He stares over to the tray filled with the breakfast.  _ Huevos con chorizo. Typical.  _

He goes to the tray and eats a single spoonful then goes out the door following his abuelita to the kitchen. His younger cousins run around with the gold marigold flower baskets in their hands dropping petals randomly throughout the home. As they run past him, Miguel notices his baby sister running after them, most likely having woken up from her nap. When she's running past him, she clumsily trips over her own feet and drops to the floor, her basket of marigold’s scattered in front of Miguel's feet. Miguel quickly drops low to pick up his crying sister.

“Ay, Socorro,” Miguel say’s as he adjusts his sister in his arms, “Why is it that you’re trying so hard to run like our cousins even though you’re only two years old?” The young girl continued to cry and had decided to bury her face in her brother’s shoulder. Miguel patted her back and tried to lull her to a quiet if only to spare his own ears from the girls crys. 

Then the girl sneezes. She pulls her face away from Miguel, shivering.

“ _ F-frío _ ,” Socorro says as she tries to rub her arms for some warmth. Miguel realizes that she’s talking about him. His body was cold and he couldn’t even feel it, but it seemed that even his little sister felt the cold he thought only his sensitive-to-weather grandma would feel.

“ _ Lo siento mija. _ Sorry,” Miguel says as he places a kiss on his sister’s cheek then sets her on the floor again. Socorro looks up to him from down below, her tiny finger brought to her lip, eyes big and eyebrows raised. She was questioning why her brother was so cold. But like any other child, her mind loses track of her thought process, and she gets distracted by the sound of her playing cousins. Socorro runs out to the courtyard and Miguel is left to clean up the marigold petals she dropped. He sighs.

Miguel leans down, picks up the basket and slides it into his arm. He starts to pick up the gold petals but something happens. Something he’d only dreamed of witnessing again. They glow, brightly like the time when he first crossed the Marigold Bridge and had dipped his hands into the flowers, admiring the shine of each individual piece. And now, cupped in his hands, each one was lit like the light of a candle but it wasn’t hot. It was a comforting warmth. And it felt pleasant. Miguel stared at the petals glowing in his hands, the orange light reflecting off his brown eyes. But then the petals begin to dim, slowly losing their gleam.

And like that, they return to being regular pieces of a flower.

_ What was that?  _

Miguel stands up, letting all the petals drop through his fingers except for one. He examines the petal with a face relatively the same as the one his sister made when questioning his temperature. He turns the petal in his pointer finger and thumb grip. The petal does nothing as if mocking Miguel’s fascination. He angrily frowns and stuffs the petal into his pant pocket. He picks up the rest of the petals and puts them into the basket, and walks into the courtyard. The fresh air feels nice. He could almost forget the revelation of this morning. 

“Miguel!” he hears a voice call. A stern, old voice that could only belong to Abuelita. She was calling from the ofrenda room across the courtyard from the shoe shop and kitchen. The placement of the rooms in his house was random and confusing now that he thinks about it. He goes over to the room and enters. His Abuelita is there with a plate full of tamales in one hand and the other with  _ pan de dulce.  _ She was placing the food on the altar. With no pictures up yet, he didn’t know which food was for who. Abuelita turns to him and looks lower to the basket of marigolds in his hands. 

“Go give those to your sister. Only your mother and the children work on creating the paths,” she says sternly as she turns back to the ofrenda.

“Is that all?” Miguel asks.

“Can you fetch the photos from the attic, too?”

The attic. The place of bad memories. Of the times he was alone in his love for music and in fear of the truth being discovered by his family. The times in which he worshipped a murderer and played music on a cheap guitar he pieced together himself. The times in which he lived in ignorance of the truth of his family. Of his past and of Hector. The attic just brought back bad memories. Miguel was happy everything from up there had been burned. 

“Yeah. I’ll get them,” he answers, smiling brightly. He turns to leave but is pulled back by his right arm. Abuelita turns him around and points her right-hand pointer finger straight at his face, her other hand on her hip.

“ _ Recuerda!  _ You only have a few minutes. You have to go straight back to bed after this!” she orders.

“ _ Si Abuelita.” _

She lets go of Miguel and looks at him suspiciously. Did she think he’d run away? He did that once and it almost killed him. Literally. 

“Well? Go already!” she says as she turns Miguel around again so that he walks out the ofrenda room. He turns his head to see his abuelita already walking back to the ofrenda to arrange the food. He looks back into the courtyard then smiled mischievously. She may want him in bed in few minutes but she didn’t say anything about not being able to get to the attic by climbing the roof or that he couldn’t play music.

Miguel places the basket of flowers leaning next to the wall.  He runs across the courtyard, through the kitchen, up the wooden stairs, and into his room. Miguel’s begins panting from the run and gets lightheaded. He forgot he had a sickness to worry about. He looks around his room and his eyes wander to every crevice.  _ Where is it? Where did I leave it? _

Miguel’s eyes land on the headstock of his guitar sticking out from under his bed. He goes on hands and knees to reach under for the instrument. His finger’s curl around the neck of the guitar and he pulls it out from under, a few particles of dust following its venture out. Miguel coughs as the dust enters his nose. He swats at the air to keep more from entering. The guitar in his hands had gone from one man to another and finally him. Miguel has it, but he knows that it rightfully belongs to Hector. Hector hadn’t been able to keep it, because of a monster coming to steal it, and Miguel promised he wouldn’t let the beautiful instrument that both Hector and he admired and cherished with all their heart gain dust. But being sick and just a few days of not playing it and the dirty floors of his room make sure the guitar gathers dust as if it’d been left alone for years. 

Miguel stands up and straps the guitar over his torso. He looks into the hallway before he goes out of his room, knowing that no one would let him play, instead saying something like: “Go rest! You’re sick!”. Which is hypocritical since they still let him help with the ofrenda. Their hate of music is only slowly wearing off, whether they admitted it or not. 

Then Miguel runs out of his room, the same way he came, but this time he passes the ofrenda room and goes through the entrance to the street. He looks to his right and notices a bunch of boxes placed strenuously but still stacked upon each other like a staircase. Miguel smirks. It’s like if the universe  _ wanted _ him to break the rules. 

Miguel flips the guitar to his back but still keeps it strapped over his torso so that his arms can freely climb up to the roof. He puts one foot on the first box and grips a box higher up with his hand, pulling himself up and placing his other foot onto a higher box, carefully so as to not topple the pyramid. He repeats the process until he reaches his hand to grip the Spanish tile roof on his home. Miguel pulls himself up onto the roof, the tiles quivering under his weight. 

Standing up and dusting himself off, Miguel adjusts the guitar on his back. He looks down to his right, onto the courtyard. It was empty. Lucky him. He walks across the roof, then hears a loud bark along with the sound of the boxes on the street toppling over. Miguel winces. Dante.

The Xolo dog is right there, the same way Miguel came up. 

“Shhhh!” Miguel shushes the dog. Dante just happily stares at him, sitting obediently and letting out another bark. He runs up to Miguel and begins to follow him as he walks across the roof to reach the old entrance into the attic. The one he used when running away from his family behind the big  _ Zapateros Rivera _ sign. He slides the sign over and looks into the attic. It’s dusty. Obviously. 

Miguel steps in and the wood creaks under his feet. Dante follows him in quickly, not wanting to get stuck under the sign. Miguel has to slouch low so he won’t hit his head with the top of the attic's ceiling.  _ Why would Abuelita leave the photos up here?  _ He looks around the attic but finds nothing. Miguel notices the ripped curtain that used to cover the entrance to the other secret room in the attic. The one he used to enter to fully be able to play his music. He takes off his guitar and holds it in his hand as he moves the curtain aside to enter the tiny space.

The alter that used to be full of Ernesto de la Cruz merchandise was empty, save for a few broken off pieces of action figures and several marigold petals lying strenuously. And there, in the middle of the room is a box. Miguel lifts the lid and sees all the frames containing the pictures of his dead family piled up inside.

Papa Julio staring straight at the camera with a face that says: “I may be short but I got spank”. Tia Victoria posing smugly with her arms crossed as if the whole world was idiotic exempt from her. Tia Rosita smiling sweetly, with her chubby cheeks adding to her caring image. Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe staring into the camera with identical smiles. 

And Mama Coco slightly having her lips quirked up into a smile, her eyes closed and face conveying the wisdom of her years. Miguel did miss her but the knowledge of her safety in the Land of the Dead with the rest of the family comforted his mind. Especially since she’s finally with Hector. 

Miguel picks up the last photo. His Mama Imelda staring blankly at the camera, her beautiful features extenuating her every aspect. In her arms is a young Mama Coco, her face examining the camera cutely. And next to both of them is Hector. The only one smiling. The piece of his face that had been ripped off from the picture mended back on with cheap tape.

He needed his family. They would know what’s happening to him right now, and they’d give him all the answers. Miguel would love to have Tia Rosita hug him so tightly he’d feel like his bones were being crushed. Or Tia Victoria and Papa Julio holding his hands as they led him across the bridge and his twin uncles making a joke about everything he’d say. Or to hug his Mama Coco again as his name slipped her mind. Hell, he’d even want the overprotective and controlling attitude of his Mama Imelda. 

But most importantly, Miguel wanted to feel his great-great-grandfather’s hand on his head as he ruffled his hair. And to play the music of his guitar and the music of their voices in front of an audience, the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the nerves being driven out by feelings of pure happiness. Hector was like the best friend he doesn’t have. And he missed him. He missed everyone.

Miguel dropped the frames back into the box and sat criss-cross on the floor of the attic. He grabs his guitar and places it in the position needed to play, his left hand at the end of the neck and his right by the strings next to the bridge. He strums the guitar and turns the knobs on the headstock to tune it. Dante sits across from him as Miguel begins to play the instrument.

He lets the memories of contentment console his distraught and confused mind as his fingers press down on the right strings and pluck the perfect rhythm. No more thinking about how he was so sick. Or how that flower randomly began glowing in his hands. Or how Senor Calles strangely appeared at his window this morning. No more confusing thoughts. Just him, his music and the memories of his times with family. 

Miguel’s eyes are closed and his playing becomes more passionate as higher notes are being met and quicker rhythms are being made. But he doesn't notice the petals around the attic, the ones left over from his idols shrine, begin to glow. Every single petal shines and it appears like Miguel is surrounded by candles that burn at the rhythm of his music. Miguel still isn’t aware as they begin to move as if being commanded to him. 

Then the sound of a bang on the wood interrupts the moment. Miguel's eyes snap open and he stops his music right after the petals fall back into place, as if they were hiding their presence. He looks out to the entrance of the attic and to the other end of the tiny room he’s in. Nothing. Miguel’s face contorts to one of confusion. He grabs the guitar and slips the strap over himself, once again moving the instrument to his back.

“Let’s go, Dante. This place is creepy anyway’s,” he says to his pet dog as he picks up the box of family pictures. Dante stands and follows Miguel as he crawls out of the room. He goes up to the sign and moves it aside. He carefully steps outside, holding the box between his hip and his right arm. He looks back into the attic one last time then lets the sign fall over the entrance. 

In the dark of the attic, two bright green eyes, slitted like a cats, look at the way which Miguel had just walked out of and slowly, they vanish.

* * *

 

Miguel walks into the ofrenda room with the box of pictures in his hands and the guitar not on his back, but back under his bed. He walks up to Abuelita, who’s working on placing flowers on the altar. She turns and notices Miguel.

“ _ Ay! Gracias mijo _ ,” she says kindly as she takes the box from his hands. She begins working again and Miguel just stands there. He nervously begins to twiddle with his thumbs, trying to gain the courage to ask Abuelita something he’s needed help understanding. 

“Abuelita?” he finally says. She stops and turns to Miguel.

“ _ ¿Qué pasa mijo? _ ” she says. Abuelita was eager to know if she’d be able to hear her grandsons thoughts. Miguel hesitates but decides to go with it anyway.

“Have you ever been so confused and felt so alone that you just...I don’t know...you just don’t know what to do?”

Abuelita smiles softly and drops her flowers on the altar. She walks up to Miguel and places her hand on his shoulder. 

“When your Mama Coco passed away, I was broken. I missed her so much. But I kept her memory in my heart and decided that as long as I held her close, even just in spirit, she’d never truly be gone,” she says, “Whatever it is you are going through can be solved as long as your soul stays strong, your mind open and your heart radiant”

That’s all he needed to hear. Miguel just wanted to be reassured and to have an answer even if his abuelita didn’t fully understand why he was so confused, her answer was better than nothing. Miguel smiles at her.

“Gracias Abuelita,” he says, the most genuine thing he’s let out of his lips in a while. She smiles back.

“Now go back to bed!” Miguel winces at her loud tone “Go!” she commands.

Miguel quickly leaves the ofrenda room. Dante is there in the courtyard, no longer afraid of the fact that Abuelita might throw a  _ chancla _ at him again. His tongue is sticking out and a big grin is on his face. Miguel smiles as well.

“I’m not gonna just go back to bed Dante.” he begins to say as he starts walking through the courtyard back to his room. “There’s a reason why those petals glowed. There’s a reason why I’m feeling sick. And there has  _ got _ to be a reason why I saw Señor Calles the way I did. And the only way I’m going to find out is by keeping my soul strong and my mind open. But I know I need my family’s help,” Miguel zips up his sweater and stares intently at his dog.

“All I have to do is wait for them to cross over”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hope you guys liked it. Next chapter will be in Hector’s POV as the Rivera family prepare to cross over. Please comment or leave me some kudos. Your beautiful comments keep me alive.


	3. Much Needed Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter while I was visiting my family in Mexico so I just had a lot of inspiration for some reason.

Hector has gotten used to the new kind of lifestyle he has. A shirt that was clean and pristine laying over his bare ribcage. A nice pair of handmade Rivera shoes on his feet. And a pair of pants whose holes have been patched up. But his straw hat remained the same. Old, worn out and with strands of his wig hair sticking from its many tiny holes. He guessed it was a way to keep that connection to the past; when he couldn't do anything to save himself from coming closer to the final death. 

Hector knew that he had shared the same fear with all the friends he has. Or _ had _ more like it. His day’s in the slums came to an end when the Land of the Dead was enlightened with the truth of his death. And the truth of Ernesto. And with that end, came the end of him meeting with his friends.

To him, it had been a good end. Not that he didn't like his friends who shared the same feelings as him, but reuniting with his family was the only thing he’d ever wanted. Finally being able to tell Imelda that he had tried to return to them was a relief as well as being saved from his inevitable Final Death. But most of all, he got to see Coco again. Oh, how Hector had dreamed of the day in which he’d be able to hug her and kiss her cheeks, to tell her that he loved her with all his heart and that regret had clouded his soul since the day he left her. Hector never got to see her alive, unfortunately, but at least they reunited in the Land of the Dead. And it’s all thanks to the great-great-grandson he never knew he had: Miguel. 

The boy was, to put it simply, his savior. He could never meet Coco when he was stuck in the afterlife. Fortunately, Hector  _ is _ able to see Miguel since he can now cross over the bridge. But he can’t speak to him, or hug him, or tell him how grateful he was. It was like Coco all over again. And it felt terrible. Every night he goes to speak with his daughter and his Imelda to try and make up for lost years but also distract himself from the sadness of not being able to see the boy. But now, Day of the Dead approaches and once again Hector will cross over. And though he can speak to his family about his troubles, he decides to speak to his friends.

That’s why now he’s walking right into the slums, with a whiskey bottle tied at his belt as a welcoming gift. This was the same place he’d brought Miguel to two years ago. But this time he comes alone. He can’t blend into the people of the slums anymore. His tidy clothes make sure of that. Hector gets stares from everyone he passes. These were the people he used to call  _ Tío, Tía  _ or  _ Primo.  _ The stares they give vary. Some were filled with pity, most likely having heard of his tragic life, death, and afterlife. Other states were full of an expected anger. To these people, he had betrayed them. Hector left their makeshift family for his  _ real _ family, and that made them feel rage. 

As he walks down the creaky planks that hold the houses and people above the dirty water under the city, Hector notices the same group of women who he had brought whiskey to that last time he came with Miguel sitting in the same spot and playing the same card game. Maybe they were left in a constant loop by the gods as if to laugh at their misery. Hector slowly, still gathering up the courage, walks up to them, securing the bottle of alcohol at his belt. 

“ _ ¡Tía! _ ” Hector says with a newfound happiness. His voice parallels the one he expressed two years ago. The women look up but still hold the cards in their hands, ready to begin playing again. They seem to have been able to tell who it was just from his voice because when they look up their faces are already full of either pity or anger. 

“ _ Tío Hector,” _ one women answer’s, her tone sarcastic as a way to show how Hector’s familial title had been lost, “What are you doing back here?”

“Looking for you guys, obviously!” Hector says proudly. He was still trying to get on their good side. “I wanted to come hang out with  _ mis amigos _ !”

“ _ Amigos _ ? I thought we were family or was that something you left behind when you found your  _ real _ one?” one woman says, sass dripping from her voice. Hector’s cheery demeanor drops. 

“I know I left you guys, and I’m really sorry about that but I’ve been very happy now that I’ve found my family,” Hector says with a pleading tone. “You guys have to understand that I left for a reason,” Hector reaches out to pull out the fourth chair to sit in that is always by the table only for his hand to meet air, “Eh...Where’s the chair?”

“Some kid stole it-But that doesn’t matter! What matters is that you left us!” the same woman from before begins to raise her voice, but then her face falls to one of sadness as she looks away from Hector to the cards in her hands. “We are happy that you found your family and are safe from the Final Death but could you not have at least come to visit? Not even once did you come even though we were all ready to congratulate you. But no! You come to visit two years later!” She slams her cards on the table, causing her two other friends and Hector to flinch away. 

“Ok I’m sorry,” Hector says soothingly, attempting to calm the seething woman, “But I have come now so why don’t we just play a game of  _ Loteria _ and forget about it?” The woman looks up and stares past Hector to the house behind him, her face once again full of gloom.

“No,” she says as she looks at her cards again, she seemed to be the only one who continued to play, “You have to go see Chicharrón.” Hector looks behind himself to the home he had brought Miguel to get the guitar he needed. To ask for it from his old friend who had faced the Final Death right in front of both of them. Did they not know that he was gone?

“ _ Tía,  _ Chicharrón, he is go-”

“We know that he’s gone,  _ idiota _ . We all said goodbye. Did you?” They were talking about the ritual. Hector had done it. But he didn’t want to get her even more enraged so he nodded and grabbed two shot glasses from the table and put them into his two vest pockets. He began to slowly walk to the house, still looking at them as he went. He throws them a friendly smile. 

“I’ll be right back,” Hector says in a tone blended with both sadness and mock happiness. They didn’t answer. Hector turns fully around and keeps walking up the planks to Chicharrón’s house. With the wooden doors already pushed to the side, all Hector had to do was move aside the curtains held up over the entrance. He enters the home and everything is strewn about. After word of his Final Death got out, looters most likely came to take anything and everything they could. 

Hector begins to step into the room where Chicharrón always used to lay in his hammock, but he gets shoved to the side when someone runs past him to the door. He catches a glimpse of the person's skeleton face to notice it was a young girl with blue floral designs under the holes of her eyes and red dots on the brow. And she was smiling. Another person, an older male skeleton, with short brown wig hair and green designs on his face, is in the room, throwing random pieces of clothing and small furniture at the girl fleeing out the door. 

“Don’t come back here, you low-life stealer! This house is protected by me. No one steals from my  _ hermano  _ and gets away with it!” the man continues to throw objects at the robbing girl even though she was long gone. Hector, with a stunned face, turns to look at the man, who is breathing heavily from the excursion and fixes up his orange vest, wiping off dust as well. He looks at Hector. “Who are you?” he asks accusingly.

Hector puts up his hands defensively. “I’m Hector. I'm not here to steal anything. I was a friend of Chicharrón’s,” Hector say’s quickly, not wanting the man to decide to throttle him.

“Hector? I know you. Or I’ve heard of you more like it,” the man says as he sits on a crate nearby, fixing his brown wig hair. 

“Heard of me?” Hector repeats in a questioning tone.

“Yeah. The story of you hasn’t died down even after two years. I think it just spread out across The Land of the Dead even more.” There is silence as Hector lets that sink in. “Anyway, why are you here?”

“I came here to say my goodbye’s to Chicharrón,” Hector says softly but surely, “Are you his-?”

“I  _ was _ .” the man interrupts Hector. “My name is Gerardo and I  _ was _ his brother. But now…he’s gone.” The man looks down, his face conveying the tragedy he seems to have gone through.  Hector looks pitifully at Gerardo, wanting to console the man he just met but not feeling completely comfortable with the idea. If there was a person that understood the pain of losing family, it was him. Gerardo speaks up. “You do know that Chicharrón is...not here... any more?”

“I do,” Hector answers confidently, getting a bit closer into the room, “But our  _ familia  _ here in the slums does a sort of ritual every time someone is taken.” Hector moves into the room completely, no longer in the doorway of the hall. “We bring in two cups,” Hector takes out the two shot glasses from his vest pockets, turns away from Gerardo and sets them down on a nearby stand, dusty as it is. “We fill up both cups to the rim with whiskey we paid for ourselves.” He takes out the tiny bottle of the alcohol from the hold it was in around the belt of his pants. He places the rim of the bottle onto the rim of a cup and watches as gravity does the rest of the work and the liquid falls in like a waterfall. He repeats the process for the second cup. Hector then picks up both cups gently and turns back to the man. “Then we drink one and let the other stay untouched,” Hector says as he moves to hand a cup to the man. “But since I already did this two years ago, I guess we can’t let these shots go to waste,” he says. 

The man takes the shot from Hector, and downs it all in one go. Hector follows suit. Neither of them finds it strange, sharing some whiskey with a man they just met. That’s how life is in the slums. You make connections with everyone and anyone you can, as a fleeting attempt to save some of your humanity.  

“Why are you in the slums again?” Gerardo asks, setting the glass down. The question, Hector notes, was most likely one that had been on the man’s mind since he found out who he was. Who would return here unless for good reason?

“I came for some friends to talk to. I guess I should’ve known they’d be mad at me,” Hector takes out a piece of paper from his vest pocket, the whiskey glass still in his other hand. It was a spirt-copy of the picture with him, Imelda, and his darling Coco. He holds it softly in his hands, his eyes staring at the people in the photo intently. “I should’ve just talked to them. I’m just too stubborn to let them know that I’m this week.”

Gerardo looks at the picture in Hector’s bony grasp. “You have your family,  _ amigo _ . You shouldn’t take that for granted. Trust me. You and I? We would know.” Hector looks at the man, then back down at the photo, his gaze is loving whenever it crosses the young Coco and Imelda. Hector sighs. 

“Yeah,” Hector says as he straightened himself out. He looks at the man “ _ Gracias. _ ” Hector turns to leave, but Gerardo speaks up again.

“Friends help, but family is the one that truly gives the answers,  _ mi amigo, _ ” he says. Hector gives the man a nod of acknowledgment, then completely walks out. He walks onto the planks that lead back down to the women. He begins to steadily take steps down to them.

“ _ Perdon, mis amiga,”  _ Hector says kindly, smiling broadly as he takes off his hat in a salute kind of way, the proper way for a gentleman to say goodbye. “But I have to be on my way now.”

“ _ Cabrón!” _ the woman from before stands up fully, slamming her hand on the table, “You come, then you leave just as quick-”

Her rant is cut short as Hector drops the whiskey bottle, half-finished, onto their table. The women seem to forget all about their anger and of Hector. They all begin to drop the alcohol onto the table as they try to get it into their cups first _. _ Hector walks away and begins his tread out of the slums again, gaining the same looks as he leaves. He had a family to see. 

Back at Chicharrón’s empty house, Gerardo stands and stares at the water from the open wall. With a swish of air and the cover of a curtain, he disappears in a flash of green.

* * *

 

Hector walks up the steps into the Department of Family Reunions. He now feels confident in coming to meet with his family in order to cross the Marigold Bridge. Though most of his friends were in states of complete hatred toward him, the moment with that strange man actually helped. He looks up, to see his family waiting outside of the doors. The twin uncles playing with each other like children, Tio Rosita conversing with Papa Julio and Tia Victoria, and Coco standing next to her mother and smiling softly, being cute and staring at nothing in particular. And Imelda was in a stance that conveyed her fury, her arms crossed and face impatiently twisted to one of anger. She notices her husband and walks up to him, the rest of the family, including Coco, flinch back. 

“ ¿ _Dó_ _ nde estabas?  _ Where were you?!” she pulls him in by the vest roughly. “We were gonna decide to leave without you,  _ ingrata _ !”

Hector holds up his hands defensively, letting out a nervous smile. “Ay, Imelda! I’m okay. I just had to go do something real quick,  _ mi amor _ .” She pulls him in closer and suspiciously stares at him with her beautiful brown eyes. Even now, all Hector can do is admire the fire in Imelda, the one that had first attracted him to her all those years ago. 

“ _ ¡Qué tonto!” _ Imelda lets Hector go suddenly, and looks at him with her arms crossed over her ribcage “What exactly did you have to do, huh?”

Hector rubs the back of his head in a nervous tick. “Um….I just went to visit my friends,” he says softly. Imelda's hard look drops to one of curiosity for once, her beautiful features no longer being disturbed by the anger of her usual personality. 

“Your friends? You haven’t gone back there since...forever. You would only go if you needed someone..to talk..to,” she drops her arms to her sides in realization. “Hector, you know you can talk to  _ me _ right. I’m here for you,” she says as she places her hand on her chest and leans in closer to her husband.

“I know, Imelda. That’s why I came back so quick,” he says smiling. Imelda’s expression changes to one of anger once again. 

“Wait! You were going to stay there longer!” Imelda raises her fists and Hector flinches away. Imelda sighs and lets her fists drop. She turns to the side, her purple dress swaying in her movement, and crosses her arms again. “Whatever. Let's just go inside and get everything set so that we can cross over.” She turns fully and passes the rest of the family in order to go into the department. They all stare as she passes them, then they look over at Hector.

“ _ Hola,”  _ he says as he walks up to them. Coco had moved to the right, next to Tia Rosita and Papa Julio. She smiles softly and brings up her arms for an embrace. 

“ _ Hola, Papa!” _ she says. Hector pulls her into a hug and lets himself just feel that: the feeling of happiness to be in his daughter’s embrace. They pull away and then the whole family walks into the department together, piling in through the doors. Imelda was already walking up the stairs and the rest of the family speed walks in order to catch up, including Hector. 

Hector should be used to the stray looks he gets from people. Based on what he’s heard, the Rivera family is famous, especially him. Coco grabs his hand and Hector smiles down at her as she smiles warmly at him as well. 

Two guards open the doors for them, and the Rivera family enters the Department of Family Reunions. It seems like the whole office stops to stare at the famous family who had been part of every rumor since the event that occurred two years ago. Hector refuses to let the stares intimidate him. He smiles and waves at all the people.

“Don’t stop,  _ mi gente!” _ he says loudly to all the people, “There’s still work to be done!” Imelda grabs his other empty hand and pulls him away from the ‘center stage’ he’d put himself on, his other hand slipping from Coco’s hold. All the people who had heard his outburst just stare with looks that say ‘Is this man crazy?’. Imelda completely pulls him over to the desk of a skeleton worker in the office, the young women who had been on the receiving end of Imelda’s fury two years ago.   

“Are you trying to ruin the family name?” she says to Hector once she lets his hand go and turns to glare at him. If looks could kill, he’d be even going through the Final Death right about now. “Everyone in the Land of the Dead already thinks we’re crazy and you go talking like you own the place!” Hector just lets himself take the blow from her loud words, but it seems his wife was actually waiting for a response to the question she had asked so Hector gets ready to respond only to be interrupted. 

“The Rivera family,” the women at the desk had stood up while Imelda had been yelling at her husband. Her tone was not questioning. She knew who they were. “The Head Clerk should be ready to meet with you any moment. You may go wait in his office if you’d like.” She gestures to the door, and Imelda, who had turned to look at the women, just glares. Hector looks over his wife’s shoulder to the worker and with another tug on his arm, he is being dragged into the office by the wrist. Imelda’s grip is tight and seems to easily convey her anger.

“We’ll wait inside,” she says so that the rest of the Rivera family, who had gathered at the worker's desk could hear, but before anyone could even think to follow the women and her husband, Imelda slams the door shut, the sound reverberating around the department. The Rivera family and the working women just stare in silent confusion at the door. 

Inside of the office, Imelda has Hector with his back pressed against the wall, both of her arms caging him in on either side. Hector has a nervous look to him. Imelda had something on her mind and he knew that. He just didn’t want to be caught in one of her episodes. Imelda just looks at Hector, their eyes meeting and Hector trying with all his might not to look away due to the intensity of his wife’s gaze. Then out of nowhere, Imelda drops her hands and breaths out a heavy sigh. She walks over to the center of the room, and Hector lets his back separate itself from the closed door. He looks at Imelda with curiosity as she brings her fingers to her temple, eyes closed.

“Do you remember when we were still alive and young,” Imelda starts, her voice low and her eyes not meeting with Hectors, “You would never talk to me about what you were going through. You’d just leave and go talk to friends.” The word ‘friends’ leaves her lips in a sneer-like tone like if she hated the idea of him with others. “I mean, I was glad that you had people but I was your wife yet you wouldn’t talk to me.” Imelda brings up her face and turns to look at the man who held her heart, even in all her anger, and Hector all of a sudden feels a pang in his heart at pitiful gaze she was giving him. “Why?” she says, softly, no anger in her voice. None at all.

“I-,”Hector is at a loss for words. How was he supposed to answer that? Just tell her that he had been, and  _ is _ , too proud to let his family know of his weakness. Or to spill the beans on his fear of not being able to be there for his great-great-grandson the way he wants to be. How? “I don't know.”

Imelda lets out an angry sigh as she throws her hands up in frustration. “I swear! You’re like a child.” She goes up to Hector and pulls him in roughly for a hug. Now Hector is even more confused. “ _ No soy una idiota. _ I’m no idiot. I know that you don’t want me or Coco to see you weak,” she says, her words flowing directly into Hector’s ear. She knew. “And I know that you’ve been thinking about Miguel.” She knew everything. 

Imelda pulls away and holds Hector by the shoulders. “You’re r-right,” Hector says, as if the realization was surprising. He should’ve known she’s know. 

“I love you,” she says, smiling. Hector believes her. “Coco loves you. Miguel loves you. And you should know that. So don’t...,” she tightens up her hold, her bony hands squeezing, “...be afraid.”  _ How was she so wise? _

Hector beams at her. The words she said were perfect. They helped ease his mind, his soul and his worries. “I love you all too.” And they both just stand there, in comfortable silence.

Until the office door is opened. Hector and Imelda look over to the people entering. The short Head Clerk walks in with the Rivera family behind him.

“Oh!” he says, “Are we interrupting something?” Hector and Imelda pull away, smiling nervously. Hector notices his daughter letting out a laugh at their flustered looks. 

“No,” Hector and his wife say simultaneously. Another laugh is heard from Coco. The Clerk and the rest of the family fully walk into the room, the Clerk leaving the door open which let’s the noise of the busy department seep in. The Rivers family, who had come to stand next to Hector and Imelda, all look over to the Clerk at his desk. He picks up a single paper and walks over to Hector, handing it to him.

“That piece of paper authorizes you all to cross over,” he says, pointing at the paper as Hector tried to make out it’s complex grammar. Imelda puts her hands on her hips.

“Why do we even need authorization? We never needed it in the past,” she asks.

“Because,” the Head Clerk begins to explain, “Ever since the incident with your great-great grandson, higher powers want to keep a closer eye on this family.” 

“Higher power’s?” Tia Rosita asks curiously. The Head Clerk just nods, as if that is enough explanation. Hector just stares at him with suspicion, but not feeling like ruining the moment of near exit. He was about to go see Miguel after all. The Clerk walks back behind his desk and takes a seat in his chair. 

“That is all,” he says, cheerfully, “You may all go cross over now.” And with that the small skeleton goes back to work signing paper. The Rivera family all turn to each other. Every single one was confused but no one spoke out about it. Instead Imelda headed the way once again as the family followed. To the bridge they went. 

“Next,” says the female operator of the identification machine at the entrance to the bridge. The Rivera family hadn’t had to wait in line due to their popularity causing them to get ‘VIP’ access all the way to the front. Hector, obviously, goes last. He watches Imelda go up and Coco, and he sighs with relief every time that one of the family is let through, as if the fear of not being allowed over still haunted him. Hector finally goes up and the operator woman looks over the machine at the man. Hector is nervously twirling his fingers in his hands.  _ You crossed over last year. Just like Imelda said, don’t be afraid.  _

And just like last year, it seems like the suspense could kill him or the fear that he’ll hear the all to familiar beep of the machine reminding him that no one even tried to put his photo up. But just like last year, he hears something different, the words he’d wanted to hear. 

“Your family put up your photo! Enjoy your visit, Hector,” the women says as she lifts her hand toward the bridge. The bridge, like every year, is blinding in its beauty. The petals are bright and seem to capture your attention and not let it go. 

“Are you just going to stare at it all day or can we cross.” Hector snaps out of his adoration of the bridge to look at Imelda who is holding her hand out to him.  _ Then again, there is one person more beautiful than this bridge. _ Hector smiles, reaches out and grasps Imelda’s hand. Coco is next to him on his other side, she grabs onto Hector's open palm.  _ Two people _ . Hector looks at both of them. The love of his life and the daughter who still holds his heart. They are everything he needs really. 

Together they begin to cross the bridge, the petals under their feet glowing at every step. Just like last year, they walk with happiness being noted every time they turn to smile at one another. Tia Rosita, Papa Julio, Coco, himself, Imelda, Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe all walking. Together. A simple task made precious to Hector by all the years he had been separated from them. He looks to the sky and begins to get lost in it, only for his gaze to be interrupted by Pepita and Dante flying over them. There was beauty, Hector notes, in every action and every step they took to get closer to the other side. He was going to see his living family, knowing that he deserves to be with them and that he deserves to be with Imelda and Coco as well. He tightens his grip on both of the hands in his grasp. He was gonna see Miguel and he’d be darned if he let himself feel depressed at this moment of happiness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment or leave me some kudos. Thanks for reading!


	4. El Kiosko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kiosko is like that one stage that we saw in the movie where the people were performing in the plaza when Miguel ran away from his family. It’s like a little hut which is literally in every pueblo in Mexico.

Stepping into the cemetery of Santa Cecilia was a hit to Hector’s nostalgia. He’d only been here two other times. When he crossed over the Marigold Bridge for the first time a year ago, and when he was still alive.

When he first crossed over the bridge, he had, to be completely ironic, died of joy. There was a feeling of euphoria that was brought with the scent of real air and the sight of real trees and real animals. Hector had also been eliciting, as put in Imelda’s words, a sense of carefree spirit. 

“You’re just always like that,” Imelda had said. He still remembers the smiles on everyone’s faces, but surely his had been the brightest. He had been like a child returning to the home he had missed forever. That memory had been a happy one, as is every day of the dead for people in the living world. But...he had the certain suspicion that the visit through the cemetery would also bring back  _ that _ unwanted memory. Pretty crazy. It was a memory but at the same time, it wasn’t. No matter how much he tried to remember the moment in real life, he couldn’t recall it fully. Someone died and all he really remembers is standing in the rain as he stared at a tombstone whose inscribed name is blurred. 

The rest of the Rivera family steps onto the solid earth of the Santa Cecilia cemetery, as Hector continues to reminiscence.  

“Oooo! I can’t wait to see our  _ querido  _ Miguel!” Tia Rosita exclaims. Coco nods in response to the woman’s excitement, her smile conveying the fact that she was just as excited. They were both in suspense and ready to see the boy who would bring happiness to them, as he will for Hector. It almost felt surreal to be able to walk with his own two skeleton legs and have the chance to see his great-great-grandson for a second time. Imelda walked up to his right side and stared at Hector as he continued to stare into the distance, past the cemetery and towards the town in which Miguel lived, where the sun was just beginning to set.

“We should go,” she says. Hector snaps out of his daze and looks down at her. “Miguel is probably waiting.”

With that, she begins to walk towards the exit of the cemetery, her hands firmly at her sides. Hector smiles as he follows Imelda. When he last saw Miguel, he was singing happily with his family. Hector had wondered if they had accepted his love for music after Miguel left the Land of the Dead, only to learn that they had done more than just accept his love. They had embraced it. Miguel’s father had been singing along with his son, his cousin playing the violin, and Coco’s daughter finally managed to begin to tap her feet to the beat. It was a moment ingrained in his mind. The moment everything changed for both of them. 

The celebration of Day of the Dead provided a beautiful scene in the cemetery. Tombs adorned with orange Marigold flowers and pots of food filled with  _ tamales, gorditas _ and, his favorite, the dessert-like bread:  _ conchas.  _ As he walked a young girl with a firework in her hand came running up to him. And ultimately through him. Hector flinches from the awkward sensation, like someone softly grasping your soul then slowly drawing back. Well, everything changed two years ago Everything except for the fact that he was still dead. Hector looks back to the girl still running towards her family gathered by a shrine.

And then his gaze went up a bit and there at the end of the cemetery path was the huge tomb. Ernesto’s tomb. 

Hector’s mind is beginning to flood with all the tragic memories the man caused, but he ends up having to hold back a chuckle when he sees the wooden sign displaying in red letters the words “Forget you”. It wouldn’t take a genius to realize it was a direct counter to Ernesto’s token slogan. 

“Hector!”

Hector turns his head to see his entire family already at the exit and calling to him.  _ When had they gotten there? _ Hector turns to stare at his ex-friend’s grave one last time. Something about the grave made his skin crawl. And though most of him hated just the idea of the man, anger isn’t the emotion he’s sensing. It was something that makes his head be filled with confusing thoughts when he looks through the windows of the tomb towards the casket that held a dead man. It made Hector’s non-existent heart beat just a bit faster. 

Was this ...fear? But of what? 

Hector shakes his head, wiping the thoughts away, then with newfound determination, he turns around, successfully pushing the thought of Ernesto out of his head, and begins a jog to meet Imelda and the others.

“ _ ¡Ay voy! _ ”

Hector joins Imelda, her face full of annoyance and her arms crossed over her chest. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” he answers, shrugging his shoulders at her, “Weren’t we gonna go,  _ señorita _ ?” Hector smiles as he and the rest of the Rivera family begin to walk away, Imelda follows them as well, only barely resisting the urge to stare back the way Hector came. He wasn’t the only one who noticed the tomb.

* * *

 

As the family walked together through the streets of Santa Cecilia, the living people in ignorance of their presence, each member began to remember. This had been their home long ago. They each held something of value here. As they passed the open plaza, filled with people ready to celebrate the holiday, Hector sees _ his _ thing of value. The  _ kiosko  _ that was always in the middle of the plaza, the  _ kiosko  _ presently right in front of his eyes. The tiny stage was the first one he had performed on.

_ Hector remembers being a young man with a dream. He had waited on the side, on the steps leading up to the elevated stage, his guitar strapped over his chest, as he nervously twiddling his thumbs together much like Miguel had done when he first performed in the Land of the Dead. (Though the boy’s audience had been much larger than his first.)  _

_ Hector had been approached in that moment by Ernesto de la Cruz. It was the first time he met him, and just like everyone else, he had been infected by the older man’s cheeriness and confidence. He had put a firm hand on Hector’s shoulder and declared to him: “Ay amigo...don’t let the nerves get you down. Just go up there and sing.” _

_ And Hector had done just that. He had sung his original song and the group of probably fifteen people watching enjoyed it. They danced and they cheered. Hector had felt so incredibly carefree in that moment. After his performance, he had been ready to go home when Ernesto came up to him again. _

_ “We would make a great team, amigo,” he had said, “How about we team up. You know? To give these people the good music they deserve!” _

_ Hector had said no. Obviously. He had Imelda and a young Coco to worry about and he’d be damned if he abandoned them. But Ernesto insisted. _

_ “Andale! You know, all that cheering you heard today was only the beginning,” he had said this as he put his arm around Hector’s shoulder, “Imagine a crowd of thousands yelling your name.” Hector still had had a look of uncertainty, and Ernesto noticed it.  _

_ “Look at this plaza.” He showcased the empty plaza with the kiosko centered in the middle. “This place would be filled with fans climbing to the roofs for the chance to see you! To hear you! Hector!” In this moment he had slapped his free hand onto Hector’s chest in a sign of mock friendship and his loud booming voice had dropped to a low whisper. “You’ve got talent.”  _

_ He had let Hector go. He stood next to the man. He remembers being moved by Ernesto to the point where he’d turn his head to look at the plaza and imagine it the way Ernesto had described it. So in that moment, Hector had said the words he would regret for all eternity with a sure smile on his face: “I’m in.” _

He hadn’t known that the man would betray him the way he did. He had just been a young boy moved by the speech of a contagiously proud man. Ernesto had been the confidence, while he was the brains. 

Hector turns away from the  _ kiosko _ as the Rivera family passes by it on the way to the house. Imelda and Coco were all that mattered right now. They were his love and his hope. There was no way he’d ever make the mistake of trusting someone so easily again, just to get stabbed in the back, left to die and to be seen as a man who deserted his family. For Imelda, for Coco, and for Miguel. Never again.

* * *

 

Imelda is walking with her family towards her home. The home that had been built by her determination and hard work. There were almost there, and Imelda, like all the rest, was excited to see one person in particular: Miguel. How could someone describe the gratitude Imelda had for the young boy who had saved Hector, who had revealed the truth about everything. She never got the chance to say thank you to him, his reappearance in the living world was inevitable. But she hopes, this time Hector and her will find a way to reach him. But it was only a fools dream.

          As the Rivera family continue walking, they pass the  _ kiosko _ , an elevated stage in the center of the square. Imelda can say that the place was rather normal. The only fond memory Imelda had of the place wasn’t even a memory of her own. 

_ She remembers being outside in the yard of their home with Coco laying asleep in a small basket with blankets, the girl only a few months old. She’d been outside, preparing a meal:  _ tacos de lengua _. She was in her wooden chair, slapping the tortilla dough into their thin, circular shapes to place on the heated platform, with the fire burning underneath. Imelda had heard the bang of the tall aluminum doors leading to the yard being opened. With her back to the door, Imelda had to turn her body to see the person she’d been waiting for. _

_ “ _ Hola, mi amor. _ How was your day?”  _

_ Hector had come in exasperated as if he had ran to the house. Imelda was going to ask what was wrong when he broke into a slow laugh, his eyes began to shine and his lips quirked into a smile ever so slowly.  _

_ “Imelda, I…” Hector began to say but his sentence was cut short by his own attempts at catching a breath. Imelda was left in suspense. _

_ “What?” _

_ Hector finally straightened himself out and went up close to her.  _

_ “I performed!” he finally said, loudly to let all the neighbors know as well.  _

_ “Shhh!” Imelda brought her index finger to her lips and at that moment Hector had looked over to the sleeping Coco. He had brought his hands to his mouth his lips moving to silently make the words:  _ Oops.

_ Imelda laughed lightly at her charming husband's clumsy behavior, and the words he said had, at that moment, finally sunk in.  _

_ “You really performed?” Imelda asked, her tone hopeful. _

_ “Yeah. It was amazing.” Hector’s eyes had slowly drifted to a dream-like state. He had been thinking about the performance, and about how it had made him happy. _

_ “That’s wonderful!” Imelda had stood up from her seat by the stove in her excitement, leaving the tortillas on the fire. Hector beamed at her, ready to embrace her when they heard the rustle of blankets as baby Coco moved in her sleep. Imelda had said that a bit too loud.   _

_ “Shhh,” Hector said, his index finger placed on his lips. Imelda had pouted slightly at the man copying her earlier shushing. His smile had grown even more and he winked at her, finally wrapping his arms around her and embracing.  _

_“It was even better than we thought it’d be,” he said, his voice tickling Imelda’s ear. “Next time you’ll go up and sing with me.” He had hugged her even tighter in that moment and Imelda had warped her own arms around his body, completely filling the space between them._ _  
_ _“Where?” Imelda asks softly, her voice had conveyed the absolute bliss the contact between them was providing._

_ “We’ll perform in the kiosko.” Hector pulled away, holding Imelda by the shoulder at arm's length. Imelda’s face had been bewildered by the sudden loss of contact. “Like I did today.” _

_ Hector had been smiling so brightly, it was practically blinding.  _ Like a sun _ , Imelda remembers thinking. _

_ “Okay.” Imelda had said returning the smile to Hector. His grin had become even larger at her words, and Imelda can recall his two dimples being so easily noticeable. He had pecked her lightly on the lips, short and sweet. And then his face upturned to one of curiosity, his nostrils breathing in something in the air. _

_ “What’s burning?” he asks.  _

_ Imelda snaps out of her daze and turns in a hurry to the stove, smoke coming out of the pieces of black on it, which no longer looked like  _ tortillas _. _

_ “ _ AY!!! Las tortillas! _ ” she yelled and Coco had finally begun crying. _

That had happened years ago, but Imelda still has a smirk come across her face at the memory. She looks over to Hector walking next to her. He was looking at the plaza too.  _ What could he be thinking about?  _ The man looks at him intently and Imelda realizes that whatever he was remembering wasn’t all cheery and happy like her’s. 

Imelda’s attention is drawn to her arm, as Coco tugs on her sleeve. She looks to her daughter and notices that the rest of the Rivera family have stopped. 

“We’re here,” Hector says as he comes to stand next to her. And there the house was. Only a few feet down the road. Imelda and Hector had been so lost in remembrance, they had forgotten that they were walking. Imelda just stares at the house, like if it was a sanctuary. 

Since she was always followed like a leader by the rest of the family, she took the first step towards the home. Instantly, everyone else began walking too. They were almost there.

* * *

 

They were here. Hector wouldn’t have believed he’d get another chance to cross over, let alone come to the house which once held all the people he loved. In the Land of the Living, the dead walk around like ghosts. When they want to make spirit copies of anything, it has to be something their family put out specifically for them. But everything and everyone else, just pass right through them and elicits that awkward sensation. So thank God the gates leading into the patio of the Rivera home were open, the trail of Marigold flowers leading straight into the ofrenda room. 

In the middle of the yard is the table which is barely beginning to be set up for the celebration. And out through the kitchen door on the other side of the patio comes Coco’s daughter. 

“Miguel!” the woman yells in no particular direction, wobbling with the several plates in her hands, “Bring over the salad,  _ mijo _ !” The entire dead Rivera family, standing at the entrance wait for the chance to hear the boy respond. They all wanted to hear his voice again.

“ _ Si abuelita!” _ the boy yells from inside the kitchen. And there he was. The unmistakable sound of his voice. The entire Rivera family look at each other, smiling, but Hector just stared in the direction of the kitchen, thinking of walking in to see the boy.

Then they hear the sound of children and Hector and the rest look behind them to the family making their way into the Rivera home through the gate, just barely not passing through any one of them.

“ _ Hola suegra.  _ We're home,” the young beautiful women who had been followed by young children says. From her feature, Hector could see the resemblance to Miguel. She must be his mother. The woman immediately helps her mother-in-law with the plated food, trying to ignore the pestering children at her feet pulling on her dress.

Then, all of a sudden, the Rivera family watch as Coco walks up to the table, looking at her daughter with a sad smile.

“I’m gonna take the children up to their rooms,” Miguel’s mother says, “I’ll be right back to help.” With that, she picks up one of the little girls walking beside her and behind towards the rooms.

Coco walks around the table and gently puts an arm on her daughter’s shoulder, not letting it pass through completely. The old living woman moves to fix the plates on the table, unintentionally going out of her mother’s embrace. 

Coco’s face converts to one of sadness. Hector was about to take a step forward to comfort her but Imelda beat him to it. He and the rest of the family watch from afar as Imelda hugs her daughter like the mother that she is. 

“It’s okay,  _ mi amor _ ,” she says, “You will grow used to the fact they can’t see us.”

Hector could understand his daughter’s pain. He has wanted so badly ever since two years ago, to hold and embrace Miguel. But it’s impossible. The boundaries between life and death can’t be broken. 

Hector tries to put on a smile and straightens his slouched back. He turns to Tia Rosita, Papa Julio, Tia Victoria and the twin Uncles. They are all staring at the scene being caused by Imelda and Coco.

“How about we go into the  _ ofrenda _ room,” at this the family turn to him, “Let’s see what Miguelito put out for us.” He takes his left and goes into the room which holds the shrine dedicated to them. In there are the photos of all of them. And food. Lot’s of food. 

“Miguel sure knows what  _ we _ want,” one of the Tio’s say as they reach for the  _ tamales _ and  _ conchas  _ on the table. Hector laughs lightly at them. He reaches for the  _ concha _ placed under the black and white picture of him, Imelda and little Coco. He instantly makes a spirit copy of the bread and holds it in his hands. 

His face falls at the melancholic thoughts running through his head. This was supposed to be a happy moment but all he could think about is how he can’t share this bread with Miguel. How he can’t hug him. How he can’t talk to him. How he can only see from so close, yet so very far. If only a miracle would happen and Miguel could see them. But luck was never on his side.

Hector brings the bread to his bony mouth, about to take a bite out of it when he all of a sudden he jumps at the sound of broken ceramic.

Hector quickly turns away from the ofrenda, to see the one subject of his thoughts over the last two years: Miguel. 

At the boy's feet is the broken bowl which had most likely held a salad. The boy's mouth is agape, his eyes wide and staring. At him. 

_ Could he…? _

“Hector?” the boy says lowly as if his own words were unbelievable. Hector stares at the boy. He said his name. 

_ Can he really…? _

No, it’s impossible, but the little bit of hope in Hector’s soul tells him to ask the question he wanted to ask so desperately.

“Can you see me?”

_ It’s impossible. He couldn’t possibly. _

But Miguel nods. “Yes. I...I can see you.”

And at that moment Hector’s  _ concha  _ slips from his hands and onto the floor.

It was a miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There used to be a note here asking you guys to vote (thanks to the people who voted btw), but I think I'm pretty sure Ernesto would've won anyway. The OC idea has been thrown out and I have changed the summary of the story to include Ernesto and so as not to be so vague. Thanks for reading the chapter! Please comment or leave me Kudos! Or both. Both are good.


	5. Chapter 5: Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola! I don’t have any reasonable excuse as to why I stopped writing for a while but I’m really sorry about it. Maybe I’ll find more inspiration. I’m going to start on works in other fandoms just so that when I get writer's block on one I’ll go to the other and if I get writer’s block on that one I’ll go back to this one. It’s an author’s version of really smart multitasking ping-pong. After this chapter guys, the plot will fully commence. I am just getting everything organized. (JK! Who has time for that? I don’t. *cries*)

Miguel sighs, a light breath leaving his lungs in a tuft of warmth. 

He had been so confident. He had said he’d just wait for them to crossover.

Like if it would be that easy!

He should’ve realized that he wouldn’t be able to see them. It was obvious! How could he have thought it’d be that easy. It was never that easy. Never. But he had hoped and that’s what was important, right?

Miguel wipes his forehead, taking away a whole armful of sweat. He grimaces at the disgusting and sticky feeling. Abuelita told him he could help clean the kitchen in preparation for the guests who’ll arrive for the celebration later in the night, and he hadn’t wanted to let that offer pass him by. It was better than being locked up in his room again. 

So he got some rags from where they were neatly folded in a closet, some  _ Fabuloso  _ from under the kitchen sink, and he got cleaning. Though, he seemed much more energized at the beginning. Now, he’s forced to place a hand on the kitchen countertop to stop himself from leaning over and fainting. He was actually feeling sick now.

He feels like he’s burning up. Miguel places a hand to his own forehead, trying to notice his own signs of fever.

“What is wrong with me?” 

Miguel pulls his red sweater off and throws it on the nearby kitchen table. He grabs the rag more tightly in his grip and dips it into the Fabuloso mixture from a nearby bucket, wringing out the excess water. He lays the wet cloth on the stove, scrubbing harshly at the grease stains on the grills, but to no avail. He pulls back frustrated.

“Ugggh! This is useless,” he says as he throws the rag onto the still greasy stove. 

Trying to clean a Mexican family’s stove? 

Impossible. 

Miguel crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the rag on the stove like if it was his worst enemy. He didn’t have time for this. He had to figure out a way to contact Hector. 

He turns his head to look out towards the yard. He’d have to wait for nightfall to even have a chance to see his dead family, and that is if he could. Which he doubts he can. Miguel sighs and looks back to the stove, the rag still laying there. 

Then he hears a sound. Something scratching underneath the sink, which was right next to the stove. Scratching and more scratching. Like tiny claws. Miguel jumps at the sound of a loud noise, almost like a snap of metal on wood, or a metal spring being let loose. It came from under the sink again

Miguel gulps, knowing all too well the sound of scratching and the sound of snapping. One of Abuelita’s traps caught a rat. Miguel definitely didn’t want to clean that up. The thoughts of a carcass twisted unnaturally and how life is being stolen begin flooding into his mind. Although, he didn’t know why? He begins to sweat a little more at the thought of the tiny rat that’s most likely lost its head. 

But Miguel gets a little too hot.

He sways on his feet, nearly toppling over completely. His head hurt. His skin and his heart felt like they were burning and his eyes could barely stay open.

He tries to ignore it by shaking his head and turning to look at the cabinet just as a bright orange light leaks through the cracks under the door. It was bright enough to make Miguel cover his eyes in pain. And for some reason with the light, came a sharp pain in his heart and just as fast all the hurt was relieved from his body. 

As the light dims, Miguel stares down into the cabinet where the dead rat was and where the blinding light had come from. The boy wonder’s of what his unpredictable and confusing powers had done now. 

He kneels down and places one shaky hand on the handle to open the cabinet. And then he opens it really quickly, but he jumps out of the way in fear when the rat he thought was dead jumps up to his torso.

“Ahhhh!” he screams, jumping onto a chair to stay away from the creature. The rat scurries under the cabinet. Miguel breaths in and out loudly at a fast pace. 

He slowly climbs down the chair, not taking his eyes off the crack in which the rat went through. He slowly creeps up to the fridge, where the broom is placed behind. He grabs the broom, places it close to his chest like a weapon and nears the crack. He’s seen his Abuelita catch rats this way countless amounts of times. It shouldn’t be that hard.

Miguel bends down to look through the crack underneath the stove. The rat was in the corner, munching away happily on a newfound piece of chicken. It looks at Miguel and quickly scurries away inside a hole in the wall behind him, out of Miguel’s reach. Miguel straightened himself and lets out a sigh of relief, glad he didn’t have to try and catch the creature. 

He places the broom down and looks into the cabinet under the sink. The mousetrap was there, closed down on nothing. There wasn’t even any blood. The rat must’ve tricked the system because the piece of cheese was still eaten from. Miguel couldn’t hide his sigh of relief. 

“Miguel!”

Miguel jumps at the sudden call. His abuelita was calling him from inside the courtyard where she was setting up the table for the dinner tonight. 

“Bring the salad!”

“ _ Si, Abuelita! _ ” he yells back. Wouldn’t Hector have crossed over right about now? Him, Mama Imelda and the rest. All of them could be in this very room for all he knew. But he would be ignorant of their presence. Why had he even thought he’d be able to see them? It’d take a pretty big miracle.

Miguel looks around for the salad. It should be on the countertop where they always leave the food. He looks behind the dish rack and behind the microwave like if the salad bowl would fit there. He looks over to the table and only sees the basket of fruits in the middle of the table. He lets out an angry sigh. 

“ _ Hola mijo _ ,” says a soft, sweet voice that could only belong to his mother. She walks into the kitchen from the outside yard with all of the younger children in the family walking at her feet, grabbing onto her white skirt and his sister at her hip. “Why aren’t you in bed?” she questions with a slight quirk of her eyebrow. 

“Abuelita told me I could help,” he smiles. His mother sighs and the children at her feet scurry away in order to go play in their rooms. 

“That woman. She is so indecisive. One second she tells you to rest, the next she doesn’t let you even stop working.” she places Socorro down onto a chair at the table. The young girl begins to reach for the fruit basket placed in the middle of the table. Miguel grins at her attempts and then places an orange from the basket in front of her. Socorro’s eyes light up and she reaches for the orange, beginning to stick her nails in the outer shell in order to peel it open. 

“Miguel, just take the salad to your Abuelita than you’ll go right back to bed,” she says sternly. Miguel slumps down, frowning at his mom. 

“But mama!”

“Don’t “But mama!” me. You have to rest. The doctor is coming over tomorrow to give you a checkup. Your fluctuating temperatures are not normal at all” 

“But-” Miguel begins to say but a glare from his mother makes him stop. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine!”

“Good,” his mother smiles, her beautiful features were accentuated by it. “Now go take the salad.”

“ About that...Mama….do  you know where it is?” Miguel asks, embarrassed by the fact he didn’t know. His mother laughs at her son.

“It’s in the fridge,  _ tonto _ ,” she says and points to the fridge from which Miguel had reached behind in order to get the broom.

“Oh...um...I knew that,” he says and goes to open the fridge and take out the salad. He holds the bowl tightly with both hands once he realizes it’s a ceramic bowl. Breaking it would mean certain death caused by his Abuelita. He begins to walk out toward the yard as his mother places a bib around his younger sister. He’s almost out when his mother calls him. 

“Miguel.”

Miguel turns to look at his mother. She had gone away from the table and was kneeling and looking into the cabinet from where the rat had come out of. She stands up with the trap in her hands, the tiny slice of cheese staying on only because she was holding it horizontally. 

“Did you see a dead rat around here?” she asks, looking around her feet, hoping to spot the creature. 

“I saw a rat,” he says, “But it wasn’t dead.” He shivers at the memory of it jumping on him.  

His mother looks around quizzically then at the cheese. 

“That’s odd. I knew the trap wouldn’t work so I put cheese dipped in rat poison on it. And there’s a bite in it. There should be a dead rat.”

Miguel looks towards the crack underneath the stove. The rat was very much alive last time he saw it. And it may have been alive because of him. 

“Maybe it didn’t work,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, not dwelling on the oddity for long. But his mother still looked frustrated, hating the fact that she didn’t know.

“I guess,” she says, still looking around for the rat.

“I’m gonna go,” he says, not sure if he could leave yet or if his mother had another question.

“Ok,” she says and throws the useless trap into the plastic garbage bin. 

Miguel turns and walks out into the yard and looks up to the sky as he walks. The night was beginning to envelop the day as the colors of the morning sky swirled in contrast to the dark color of night. The spirits of the dead would be crossing over right now, ready to see their family but knowing their family will never be able to see them. He walks up to his Abuelita in front of the table. She was attempting to perfect the presentation. 

“I brought the salad,” he says. Abuelita turns around and looks at the bowl in his hands.

“ _ Gracias, mijo _ ,” she says, but doesn’t reach out to grab it. “Can you take it to the ofrenda?’’

Miguel gets a confused look on his face. “It’s on offering?”

“ _ Si _ ,” she says while switching up the placement of the food on the table.

Miguel looks down at the plain lettuce salad and grimaces. 

“Who would want a salad?” he asks and all of a sudden he feels a chill come up his spin, like if something had tried to grab him only to phase right through him. His hair’s stand up and he arches his back at the feeling, Miguel swiftly turns to try and find the culprit only to be met by empty air. 

“Your Mama Imelda,” his Abuelita says from behind him. “She was a very healthy woman.” Miguel all of a sudden goes through a sudden realization.

“Mama Imelda!” he says loudly. She must be here! And she must be mad he made fun of her eating habits. “I’m going to go to the ofrenda room to put her salad on the ofrenda. Don’t wanna disappoint her.”

If she was here that meant everyone else was here too. Including Papa Hector. Miguel should know that he has little to no chance of being able to see them, but if he could at least sense a little bit of their presence, that’d be enough. They’ll be able to hear him and maybe help him. 

He walks at a fast pace to the entrance of the ofrenda room. 

If Miguel could see him…

Was it even possible?

It couldn’t be...but what if? What if?

Miguel reaches the doorway leading into the ofrenda room and hesitantly looks inside.

There, standing in front of their shrine was Hector, about to take a bite out of one of the  _ conchas  _ from the ofrenda. No longer in the tattered clothes, Miguel had become used to seeing him in, Hector was almost unrecognizable. Instead, he wore clean and pristine clothing over his skeleton form. But Miguel could easily tell it was him from the old straw still placed on his head.

Miguel didn’t even realize he dropped the bowl until he heard the sound of it breaking on the floor beneath him. Hector turns his head to look at him. Miguel knew his mouth was wide open in surprise. 

“Hector?” he says, softly. 

Hector’s eyes widen at his name being called by the boy he most likely thought would not be able to see him. 

_ It’s impossible. _

“Can you see me?” Hector says, a slight amount of hope present in his voice. 

Miguel couldn’t even smile, still in the shock of the moment. But he breaks it in order to confirm Hector’s question. 

_ It’s possible. _

“Yes. I-I can see you,” he says as he nods to his great-great-grandpa. And the concha in Hector’s hands falls to the concrete floor beneath them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. This chapter was really short compared to the other ones. That’s because it was basically just the end of the last chapter but in Miguel’s point of view. And because the next chapter is already almost finished. I should have it out by tonight or tomorrow night. Next chapter, Miguel will explain his powers and they will finally crossover. Yay for finally getting a progression in the plot! The chapter after that will finally bring in Ernesto. Yay! More progression! Well until next chapter.


	6. A Strenuous Plea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for being so late guys. And so sorry for the short chapter. I already had this chapter uploaded on fanfiction.net and only now, when I started working on chapter 7, did I realize that I never published it on Ao3. Sorry about that. Anyway, here's the chapter and chapter 7 should be done by later today or tomorrow. Enjoy!   
> (P.S. I don't really have anyone to proofread my work so sorry for any and all mistakes. I swear one day I will fix them.)

Hector and Miguel just stare at each other. The fact that they could see one another was incredible and everything they’d wanted. Everything they’ve needed. The rest of the Rivera’s in the room were frozen in shock, but Miguel hadn’t even acknowledged them, his eyes filling up with tears at the sole appearance of Hector. 

And in a swift movement, Miguel is running over the cracked pottery at his feet and closing the distance between him and his great-great-grandpa. Hector stumbles back at the sudden movement but moves his hands to catch the boy as he jumps up to his arms.

Only for Miguel to fall straight through him and crash into the ofrenda table behind him.

Hector, surprised, turns to look at Miguel who had his face buried into a plate of bread after the crash. Hector resists the urge to laugh by bringing his hand to his mouth, only letting out a small chortle. But in the end, he is consumed by laughter at the boys' clumsiness. 

“HAHAHAHAHA!!!,” Hector laughs loudly in pure happiness and reaches to grab his non-existent stomach from the laughter. 

Miguel takes his head out of the bread basket, an irritated frown on his face as well as several bread crumbs. He turns to look at Hector as the man wipes away the fall of a tear from his eyes and his laughter begins to die out. Miguel stands up straight and wipes the crumbs from his face with his forearm since his sweater was still in the kitchen. 

“ _ Ay, Dios,” _ Hector says, a big smile still on his face, "I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.” and he’d missed it. He’d missed Miguel. Only he could make him laugh so sincerely.

Said boy glares up to the skeleton man. 

“That was mean!,” he says, “I haven’t seen you in two years and you don’t even let me hug you!”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hector says. “I put my hands out to catch you,  _ chamaco _ . You just phased right through me.”

The explanation seemed to confuse Miguel because in a sudden change his expression turned conflicted as if he knew why. 

“What’s wrong,  _ mijo _ ?” Hector asks. He reaches to set a hand on the boy's shoulder but phases right through him. He quizzically looks at his own bony hand. Only now was he paying attention to the boy’s appearance. He wasn’t surrounded by the same halo of orange light all the souls of the dead had. _ So he’s not cursed.  _ So then how could he see them?

Miguel slowly looks up to Hector and Hector meets his gaze. 

“What happened to you?” Hector asks.

“I have no idea,” Miguel says.

Imelda reached out to grab Miguel’s shirt, prompted by his insult of her salad, but her hand phased right through the helm. Yet the boy still felt a shiver and he turned to look at Imelda. Or to see right through her. 

Of course, the boy couldn’t see her but the look on his face assured her that he still knew who it was. He  _ felt _ her. 

_ He was always a bright boy _ . 

Miguel walks towards the ofrenda, Imelda’s salad in hand, as Coco continues to look at her daughter. The dead woman is unable to accept the inability to embrace her daughter. Imelda goes up to her and presses their bony hands together. This is how it’s always been.

“ _ Ya vamonos.  _ We should see all the things they put out for us on the ofrenda,” she says softly.

Coco lifts her eyes to her mother and nods, a smile forming on the older-looking woman. 

CRASH!!!

Imelda, Coco and Miguel’s grandmother turn their heads towards the ofrenda room. Miguel dropped the bowl. 

“ _ Ay Dios…”  _ Abuelita says. She walks into the kitchen most likely for a broom. Imelda narrows her eyes towards the entrance of the shrine room in anger at her great-great-grandson. Without paying attention to her daughter she walks over rather angrily to the room. 

Imelda expected to see Miguel cleaning up his mess. But her husband talking to the boy was definitely not what she was expecting. 

Hector is listening intently to Miguel until the boy looks directly at her. His eyes widen. And a goofy smile makes its way on his face. 

_ He can see me.  _

Imelda was pretty sure that her face was full of shock and her body froze. Miguel ran up to her, moving around Hector who turned his body to see his wife. Miguel stopped right in front of her and smiled up at her.

“ _ Hola Mama Imelda _ ,” he says his smile growing wider and his eyes sparkling from the formation of tears. “I missed you.”

Imelda just stares. She doesn’t know how to react to the boy.

_ How? _

That was the first thought in her head. She looks to Hector for answers but he just shrugs and mouths an ‘I don’t know how either’. She places her arms around Miguel and embraces him. 

“ _ Ay, mijo... _ Are you cursed again?” she says, weaving her bony fingers through the boys soft brown hair. Miguel pulls away and grabs Imelda’s hand tightly. 

“You can touch me!” he says happily. “Hector she can touch me!” Miguel turns to Hector and Imelda sees him smiling. And now Imelda was confused once again. 

“Of course I can touch you. You cursed yourself again!” she says. 

“No, I didn’t! I have no idea how this happened,” Miguel says.

“You didn’t? Then how?” 

“ He doesn’t know,” Hector came in, “That’s why he was looking for us. So that we can help him figure out.”

Imelda looks to her husband.

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

Miguel goes closer to Imelda and stares right into her eyes with newfound determination.

“You’re going to take me to the Land of the Dead,” the boy says. 

There’s a lull of silence between the three. Imelda’s face is blank as if the boy’s words had caused her to glitch. But she snaps out of it and reverts to a face of irritation. 

“No,” Imelda answers sternly.

“Why not?!” Miguel complains.  
Imelda glares at her grandson and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Do you not remember how you almost died the first time? I will not risk that again,” she says. 

“But-”

“No buts!” 

Miguel physically deflates as his hopes are crushed. He stares at the floor with sadness. Hector seems to notice the boys obvious mood. 

“ _ Andale, Imelda _ ,” he says, “Miguel just wants help.”

Imelda stubbornly keeps her chin up and her lips sealed. She was letting them know that the discussion had ended with her decision and no more talking was needed. 

Hector sighs. 

“Imelda. Whatever is happening to Miguel must not be safe. He needs help and unless one of us knows how to fix him, we need to take him over to get help from the people who  _ will _ know what to do.”

Imelda could barely remember the last time her husband had talked so sternly to her. It shocked her. She lets her arms fall to her sides and looks over to Miguel, realizing she’d broken his hopes and caused him to look so sad.  _ I feel like I’m going to regret this _ .

“Fine.”

Miguel’s face brightens with newfound life as a smile forms itself on his face and his eyes gain a sparkle. He jumps to her and gives her a tight hug. 

“ _ Oh! Gracias mama Imelda! Muchas gracias!”  _ he says.

Hector sighs in relief. That was easier then he’d thought it’d be.

Just as they all begin to talk to each other the rest of the Riveras come on over and give their greetings to Miguel. Tio Julio jealously states how the boy had grown taller than him while Tia Victoria says that he’s always been shorter than Miguel. Tia Rosita squeezes Miguel in a hug that most likely could have suffocated him. And the twins both crack jokes to a laughing Miguel. 

“What’s so funny, huh?”

Miguel looks over to the doorway and sees his grandma standing over the broken pot, a hand on her hip and the other holding a broom.

“Um…,” Miguel says as he looks at his dead family whom his grandma most likely can’t see. They shrug in response, “Nothing.”

“Then I hope you can clean this up.”

Miguel flinches at the older women’s strict tone. He walks over to her and takes the broom with caution, afraid of the possibility of getting spanked by the  _ chancla _ . Her eyes stay transfixed on the boy in anger. Miguel holds the broom to his chest.

“Clean it up before your dog comes to eat it,” she says, “And then you can go back up to your room.”

“What!? But why!?” Miguel says, forgetting about his fear.

“Because you obviously can’t work correctly so you’re probably still sick! And that pot was one of my favorites!” she yells back.

Miguel looks down at the broken pot.

“I’m sorry,  _ Abuelita, _ ” he says, “I’ll pick it up.”

His grandma continues to frown and then begins to walk back to the courtyard table. Miguel looks at the pot on the ground and back to his dead family who was staring in confusion. Then all of a sudden Miguel realizes something.

“ _ Abuelita! _ ” he calls.

“Hmm?” the older woman answers from the table.

“I really am sorry. I just got too excited about something,” he answers.

“About what?” the woman answers.

Miguel looks back to the ofrenda and meets eyes with Hector, a small smile appearing on his face. Hector stares at the boy, puzzled.

“Well, remember when you told me to keep my soul strong?” he begins, looking back to his  _ abuelita _ , who had stopped working to listen to him.

“You told me that I needed to stay strong in order to solve my problems and in order to feel better. Just like you did. You’re right. I’m gonna keep my soul strong and I’m gonna solve my problems and I’m gonna feel better. I promise.”

Everyone stares at the boy who was still standing above the broken pot with the broom in his hands. Hector in that moment realized how important this was to the boy. He had missed us as much as we had missed him and it was now so obvious in the determined voice he had. He wanted to come with us today because it’s a blessing that he can see us. And he knows that even if anything is wrong with him, that he wouldn't mind it if he could keep seeing us. Miguel was conflicted but he knew he wanted to crossover at least one more time so he was saying goodbye. A vague and hidden goodbye that his grandma couldn’t decipher. 

Miguel’s grandma looks at the boy with a raised eyebrow. 

“What are you talking about?” she says, “Just get cleaning.” 

And with that, she leaves into the house to get more food. 


	7. Crossing Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I’m a horrible human being for taking so long to update. I will be completely honest. I kinda lost motivation for a moment there. But then I went to Mexico again for Christmas break and now I love Coco all over again. Yay! I started another story in my account but don’t think that I’m abandoning this one. I still have my ideas for this one and I’m actually planning on making it a three-part series with the next two being crossovers. I just gotta stay motivated so make sure to comment and leave kudos!

 

After Miguel had swept up the broken bits of pottery into a nearby dustpan, he'd run up to his room in search of his guitar and quickly came back down with it fastened around his chest. He had also put on a red sweater reminiscent of the one he'd worn the first time he crossed over. His whole outfit, in fact, seemed like a flash to the past for Hector and filled the older skeleton with happiness and pride.

"Okay I'm ready to go," he finally said once he came up to us.

"You sure your family will be okay with this,  _chamaco_?" Hector asks.

Miguel's face turns into that face he'd once given me in the Land of the Dead when Hector had asked the boy if he had any other family. In other words, the face of a nervous liar.

"Yeah, they'll be fine."

And with that, the fourteen-year-old boy walks out through the gate like-door that led to the pebbled street outside, the white guitar on his back. From a crevice in the street, Dante, Miguel's own loyal spirit guide, follows the boy happily.

Hector looks at Imelda for any signs of anger and any change in her decision to allow the boy back. The woman has the same worrying glance about her, her body showing all the signs of restraint. But Hector doesn't think about it too much, instead opting for how amazing it would be to show Miguel all the wonder his new way of life (death?) in the Land of the Dead had brought.

"Well, I guess we should follow," I say, not allowing Imelda to double think her decision. The woman and the rest of the Riveras follow. Then, they realized they were once again going to spend Day of the Dead in the Land of the Dead.

* * *

The Santa Cecilia cemetery was covered in an orange glow. There were marigolds glittered about everywhere, covering the dirty, old tombstones. There were people with different clothes ranging from traditional to cheap t-shirts and they carried colorful and undoubtedly delicious food for the souls of their dearly beloved. The warm, orange glow came about mostly due to all of the Dead walking around on the spiritual plane. Their translucent skeletal bodies shined with the color of the flowers that littered the grass. And there were so many of them.

"Woah… There must be twice as many spirits here this year than when I first got cursed," Miguel says as the group walks around the cemetery, having to weave through throngs of people more often than usual.

To any other person, Miguel was walking alone in a cemetery with only his dog Dante by his side but the Dead could see the big family following the young boy like sheep.

"Well that may be because of how famous we made Santa Cecilia," Tia Victoria says from the back.

Imelda scoffs at the comment as Hector nervously laughs. Neither of them necessarily liked the fame.

Miguel passes several graves and their families. Once he stops in front of Ernesto's

Gravesite, he looks up to the statue of the ex-musician. The whole thing had grown old and full of cobwebs. No person cared for it anymore. The inside was most were the musician's bones lay was probably just as empty, dark and unwelcoming.

"I feel kinda stupid now for having liked that guy," Miguel says, more in hate at himself and his mistake then at the dead musician.

"Well, you didn't know about what he had done. Not even I did," Hector comforts. Miguel turns to look at the older skeleton, his eyes downcast in guilt. Hector didn't seem to understand why that emotion was brewing in the young boys eyes. All Hector ever felt when he thought of Ernesto was hate. But maybe the older skeleton should understand that the young boy had been as betrayed as he was. Hector was betrayed by a friend, Miguel by an idol.

"So, where's the bridge?" Miguel asks, changing the subject.

"It's still in the same place as before,  _chamaco_ ," Hector answers with a small chuckle as if it was ridiculous that Miguel had forgotten where to look. The boy then turns away from Ernesto's grave site. Then in a complete change in pace, the young boy jumped in excitement as he looked to his skeleton family.

"Well then what are we waiting for?  _¡Vamanos!_ " Miguel says happily. And with that, the boy begins a slow run towards the bridge. Hector watches the boy go in wonder when he and the rest of the Rivera family notice the petals below his feet begin to glow and move towards him. They were glowing as if the boy was already on the Bridge. Hector and Imelda have curiosity dawn on their faces, but that curiosity reflected fear as well.  _Just what was happening to their great-great-grandchild_.

Miguel doesn't seem to notice the flower petals move or the way they shine, so the Rivera's decide to shrug it off. However, Hector and Imelda file it away in their minds to look into and ask the boy about later on. The rest of the family follow behind Miguel but Hector stops in his tracks when he hears a thump, like the drop of rock from behind him. The skeleton stares curiously at Ernesto's grave behind him. All there was was darkness and after another second of suspicion, Hector moves on, leaving his murderers gravesite in complete abandon and darkness.

* * *

In the shadows of the gravesite, a broken skull, hidden under a hooded cloak, peeks out from the back. He stared at the receding figures of the Rivers family as they neared the Marigold Bridge that would lead them into the other world. His eyes were focused and squinted in an indescribable type of loathing for the people he was spying on.

Then the man looks down to his feet, drawn by the sensation of something rubbing against his ankles and weaving itself through his legs.

_Meow…_

The cat raises its head in purring content and it's eerily, bright green eyes gaze straight into the skeleton's non-existent soul. The man knew what the feline's presence meant.

"They almost spotted you," a silky, feminine voice says from behind him.

He turns to acknowledge the woman, however, he did little to hide his contempt at her presence. He doesn't care much when he realizes she had hidden in the shadows, only a faint glow of red and orange could be seen, most likely coming from her clothes and her body.

"I dropped one rock," the man says, clearly irritated, "I don't think that will warrant their suspicion."

"I thought you would be the one to know not to underestimate that family," she answers.

The man glares at her from under his hood, his cracked eye socket clearly shown to the woman.

"Just don't be so careless again," she says, interrupting any retort the man could give, "The success of your mission is what truly matters at this time."

The man turns away from the shadows no longer wanting to look into the darkness for her form. The cat at his feet had long since wandered into the shadows in search of its master.

"I don't understand why you want me to do this," the skeleton man says.

"You don't need to understand. You just need to do it."

"But becoming friends with them? It will never work. Especially for me."

"That is why it's so important that it does work. Especially if it  _is_  you."

The man hidden under the cloak swerves around, his eyes staring intensely into the darkness that housed the silky, smooth voice of a power he knew he shouldn't be working with.

"What are you after?" he says, not expecting a response from the cryptic woman.

"Does it matter? All that should matter to you is that if, and  _once_ , you succeed, you will be given a second chance at life. Revival and retribution."

The man remains silent.

" _Luna_  will watch your mission," at her words, the black cat steps out into the lighter shadows which the man inhabits, "You may call upon her when you need her but she will mostly be there to make sure you don't mess up."

" _Qu_ _é_   _bien_ ," the man says sarcastically.

"With another life for you at stake I don't believe you will fail," she assures and the man lifts his head to where he believes the mysterious woman is, "Or will you, Ernesto?"

He raises his head high, the hood falling off, revealing his disheveled dark hair and still porcelain white bone. However, he was marred with a permanent series of cracks that traveled his skull like webs.

" _No_ ," Ernesto begins, "I will not fail. I will once again lead Hector Rivera to his death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! Done already? Damn that was too short. But I wanted to end the chapter on a cliffhanger. Who is the woman in the shadows? What is she after? And why is our poor Hector being targeted? So many questions! But hold your horses folks because I am inspired and I swear I will continue this story no matter what it takes. Please give me more motivation by giving me kudos and/or commenting. I absolutely love reading all your theories and ideas. Sometimes they shape the story.


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